


Fate, Waiting to Happen

by Nahiel



Series: Evil Author Day 2019 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forced Relationship, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, Names on wrists, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming, abusive Malfoys, chapter one is draco's pov, chapter three is both, chapter two is harry's, greatest love and greatest enemy, love potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahiel/pseuds/Nahiel
Summary: Draco thought he knew which name on each of his wrists belonged to his greatest love and the person who would hurt him the most.  When he was sixteen, he realized he was wrong, and didn’t know what to do about it.Harry didn't know much about the names, but he thought he could figure out which one was which. He, as it happened, was just as wrong as Draco was.When they finally have the chance to be together, is it too late?





	1. Draco

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of my Evil Author Day set for 2019 (an event wherein works are posted incomplete in all their incomplete glory). It may never be finished, and as such, is a read at your own risk. It is posted here, unedited, in all of its glory. Please do not ask me for updates regarding this story, or any other story in any Evil Author Day series.

“I know which names on my arms belong to which person,” a five-year-old Draco Malfoy informed his mother seriously.

His mother smiled down at him, the expression gentle and kind. “Is that so?” she asked, and gently poked at his covered left forearm. “And which is this one?”

The name under that bracer had to belong to the person in the world who would hurt him the most. “That’s my enemy,” he said. “He’s the person who’s going to hurt me the most someday.” He didn’t quite understand how it was that his greatest love was who it was, but he supposed it would make sense when he was older. At least, he thought it would.

He was still very little, and there were a lot of things that didn’t quite make sense.

“Mummy won’t ask whose name is there,” she said, and brushed a kiss over his forehead. “You know that you’re not supposed to tell anyone whose names are on your arms, right?”

Draco made a face and squirmed away, dropping off her lap. “I know, Mummy,” he said, and danced back a step when she grabbed for him, her fingers curled for tickling. “I know!”

“Well, as long as you know,” she said, and sat up straight in her chair just in time for Papa to join them.

He was tall, elegant, and Draco didn’t understand how his name could be on his wrist. Papas didn’t love their sons like that, right? But Papa wasn’t an enemy, either. He couldn’t possibly be the person who would hurt Draco the most, which meant that there was only one option. Maybe the love they spoke of wasn’t a romantic one?

Draco didn’t know, didn’t understand. He was just five years old. He would figure it out eventually, he supposed. But, until then, “Papa, up!” he demanded, and raised his arms. Papa scooped him up and hugged him close, burying his face in his hair.

Papa was his hero.

ooOOooOOoo

When he was ten, Father told Draco all about the war that had raged before Draco had been born. It was then that Draco first understood the significance of the other name on his wrist, the name that he knew belonged to his enemy.

“Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord?” he echoed, a little confused. “But why should we have to worry about him now?”

What Draco was really asking, though Father couldn’t possibly understand, was _Why is his name on my wrist?_ If the war was over, then why was Potter the one who was going to hurt him the most? It didn’t make any sense. Maybe the coming hurt had nothing to do with anything?

Draco didn’t know.

“Because the war isn’t over, Draco,” Father said, almost gently. He touched Draco’s cheek with a gentle finger. “The war is still coming, my darling one, and you’re going to play a large role in it.” He pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead.

Draco, who was no longer five and understood that sometimes parents just had to be humored, didn’t sigh or fidget. “But the Dark Lord is dead,” he said, instead of trying to pull away. Besides, shouldn’t he accept this kind of attention from Father? That was what his name on Draco’s arm meant, right?

Draco was so confused, and there wasn’t even anyone he could talk to about it. Names were private, meant to be kept hidden until the time came to reveal them. And Draco knew that no one’s time for revealing came at ten years old.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” Father whispered to Draco, pulling him close and settling him on his lap. “If you think you can be a good boy and keep it for me.”

Draco masked his revulsion with interest. “I can keep secrets,” he said, while fighting the urge to jerk away. He had to get used to being this close to Father. He just knew it.

“The Dark Lord isn’t dead,” Father breathed against Draco’s ear. “He’s not dead, and he’s coming back to finish what he began. We don’t know when, but we know it will happen soon. And when it does, Draco, my dearest son, you’re going to be so very important to him.” Father pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek before pulling back. “So very important,” he murmured, and looked on Draco with pride.

Draco didn’t know why, but the expression made him more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in the past. “Why?” he asked, his voice small. He wanted to pull back, to get away, but… But Father would never hurt him. Father was the greatest love he would ever know.

“Because, Draco, when you turn sixteen, you’ll be fulfilling the contract we made with the Dark Lord on the day of your birth,” Father said, a strange light entering his eyes. “You’ll rule by his side, Draco, as his beloved consort.”

Draco didn’t know what a consort was, but he was certain that being beloved was good. So he smiled, because Father was clearly expecting a positive response. “I would be honored,” he said.

Later, in the privacy of his own room, he looked up the word ‘consort’ in his dictionary, and didn’t think he would be honored at all. But he was still young, and knew that Father would never hurt him, so he figured maybe he was looking at the wrong definition for the word.

ooOOooOOoo

When Draco was eleven, he met a boy in a robe shop with bright green eyes and a tentative smile that vanished as Draco tried to impress him. And then, later, on the train to Hogwarts, he spoke to the boy once more and realized that the boy in question was Potter, who was the person who was going to hurt him the most.

He extended a hand in friendship, if only because it was expected, but he was secretly relieved when Potter didn’t accept it.

He didn’t want to give the other boy any chances to hurt him, even though he knew it was going to happen regardless of his best efforts. Names weren’t guesses, weren’t things that could be circumvented. They were definites.

Names were Fate, waiting to happen. At least, that’s what his mother always told him.

Still, that didn’t mean that Draco had to make it easy on Fate. After all, with the names She had given him, it wasn’t like She’d ever decided to make things easy on him, either. And Draco was eleven, and he was allowed to be petty.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco did his best not to cry, rubbing the tears from his eyes as he sat in the hospital wing. Potter may think that he was just playing up his injuries, but his arm was killing him, and Buckbeak deserved to be punished for what he’d done.

Creatures that couldn’t behave should be put down, that was what his father always said.

“I’m going to take care of this, Draco,” Lucius was murmuring. He was settled by Draco’s side, and his hand was gentle as he stroked his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Buckbeak won’t hurt you, or anyone else, ever again, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, his voice choked with the tears that stubbornly continued to fall. “I was so scared, father.”

“I know you were,” Lucius said. He patted Draco’s hair one last time, then stood. “But Draco, we do need to discuss this tendency of yours to come running to me with every problem you have.”

Draco froze. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? His father was supposed to be his greatest love. Wasn’t he supposed to take care of Draco? Wasn’t that part of what being in love meant? “What else should I do?” he asked, and flinched, because the words came out in a bit of a whine.

“Don’t whine!” his father snapped, and a small Stinging Hex hit his hand.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. And then he winced again. “I mean to say, I apologize, sir.”

“Your apology is accepted,” Lucius said, and didn’t hex him again. “And I’m afraid, Draco, that the time is coming when you’ll have to stand up for yourself. The Dark Lord’s Consort won’t be able to go running to his father any time something goes wrong. You’ll have to learn how to handle these things on your own.”

Draco swallowed. He was only thirteen. He was a child. He didn’t know if he could handle anything on his own. Still, if that was what Father told him he had to do, then… He sat up straight and dashed the last of his tears from his eyes. “I’ll do my best, sir,” he whispered. He would have wanted the words to come out louder, but unfortunately, his throat was still closed off.

Lucius smiled, the expression almost warm, almost approving. “Very good, Draco.”

When Lucius left, Draco allowed himself to start to relax a little bit. He didn’t want to be the Dark Lord’s Consort, but knew from previous attempts that saying so would do him no good. So he stayed silent, and hoped that Fate was right, and that his father loved him as much as he was supposed to. Because, surely, if he did love Draco, he would never let Voldemort touch him like that, right?

ooOOooOOoo

After the Triwizard Tournament, after Diggory’s death and the Dark Lord’s resurrection, after the end of the school year, Draco went hesitantly to his father. “Do you have a moment, sir?” he asked, after his father bade him enter his study.

Lucius did not look well. He looked tired, and stressed, and glared at Draco when he spoke. “What?” he bit out.

“During the school year, sir, there was a boy from Durmstrang, and he—” Draco took a deep breath to steady himself. “He attacked me, sir. Hurt me, badly. And I didn’t know what to do, so I just…” He trailed off. He hadn’t done anything. He’d been too frightened, too ashamed, too hurt.

He hadn’t even gone to see Madame Pomfrey.

Lucius was staring at him, horror dawning in his eyes, and Draco felt something in him ease. His father did care, thank Merlin. But then Lucius said, “I’m going to have to tell the Dark Lord that you’re no longer pure, Draco. How could you be so stupid?”

Draco flinched. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said quickly. “I didn’t ask to be assaulted!”

His father shook his head. “You’re well trained enough that you should never have let yourself get into that position. Our family is already on the edge of falling out of favor with the Dark Lord, and now you tell me this? You could ruin our contract with him! It specifies that you’re pure!”

“Well, I don’t want to fulfil the contract anyway!” Draco snapped. He looked down, tears forming in his eyes that he refused to show his father. He was so confused, so hurt, and was honestly starting to wonder if maybe he was wrong. If maybe his father wasn’t the person who would be his greatest love.

“You will forget any ideas you may have about voiding out the contract,” Lucius was hissing, venom in his voice that made Draco shiver with fear. “You will be the Dark Lord’s Consort, and trust me when I tell you that we will be doing nothing to draw any attention to the shame you’ve brought on your family line.”

Draco turned his back on his father and hoped that his shoulders weren’t shaking with the force of the tears he was trying to hold in. “I understand,” he said quietly. All his father cared about was the contract, and the family’s status.

Had he been wrong? Should he have been working to befriend Harry Potter for all these years?

It didn’t matter. It was too late now for any of that. He and Potter were firmly on opposite sides of an ever-widening chasm. Names might be Fate waiting to happen, but Draco didn’t think that his Fate was ever going to happen.

Maybe once he was dead.

ooOOooOOoo

Things got better during Draco’s fifth year. It was easier, being one of Madame Umbridge’s pet students. Sure, she was a bit touchier with him than she was with other students, and the feeling of her hand on his hair made him want to vomit, but it wasn’t as bad as all that.

At least she protected him when other students were cruel to him. It was more than his father had done lately, and what did that say about the names on his wrist? Draco wasn’t stupid. He just… he couldn’t believe that his father would be the one…

No, it had to be Potter. Potter, who looked exhausted, whose eyes were dark with shadows, who kept his hand bandaged. Everyone knew that Umbridge had a Blood Quill, and everyone knew that if they didn’t want to catch hell from her, they should just keep their heads down.

Why couldn’t Potter be smart and keep his head down?

“Draco?” Pansy asked, her hand slipping into his.

Draco jumped, then offered her a slightly sickly smile. “Pansy,” he acknowledged. He didn’t pull away from her. He didn’t mind it when she touched him. She was one of the few people who didn’t seem to want anything from him, not really, and holding hands was nice.

“You were staring at Potter again,” she said, her voice soft. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco just shook his head. “Can’t,” he said, honestly. It was a thing. A wizard wasn’t allowed to tell anyone who was on their wrists, not unless they were the ones on the wrist. And even though Draco wanted nothing more than to talk to one of his best friends about the fact that he was more and more sure that he’d had things wrong, that Potter was not the one who would hurt him the most, he didn’t dare.

He couldn’t imagine what his father would do if he found out that Draco had Potter’s name on his wrist, but he couldn’t imagine that it would be pretty.

Then again, looking at Potter these days, Draco couldn’t really imagine how anything could be worse for him. He already seemed utterly miserable.

“Madame Umbridge was looking for you,” Pansy said into the quiet between them. “I think she wants to know if you’ve made any progress in figuring out that rogue club that Potter’s leading.”

Like there weren’t more important things to worry about. Like Potter wasn’t right. Like the Dark Lord wasn’t back, and Fudge and Umbridge weren’t just… it didn’t matter. None of it did, not in the long run.

Draco sighed. “I’ll go speak with her,” he said, and wondered if he looked as tired as Potter did. Probably not.

He didn’t think it was possible.

ooOOooOOoo

Father was home from Azkaban, and Draco didn’t want to be home for Christmas. He wanted nothing more than to have stayed at Hogwarts, where he was at least relatively safe. Where he wasn’t…

A soft, cool hand touched his cheek, the touch almost delicate. “You are quite beautiful, my Draco,” the sibilant voice hissed.

Draco’s lips trembled as he raised a wineglass to them. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, his voice as neutral as he could make it.

How could Lucius have done this to him? How could he just… just barter his own freedom with Draco’s life? Draco had been warned that it was coming, right from the start, but he’d always hoped… He’d thought that his father wouldn’t…

No. Draco couldn’t think of him as his father anymore. Lucius wasn’t. No father would do this to their son. Would give their son away like this, to this…

The hand was in his hair, tugging gently, and Draco fought back tears as his lips were taken. “Such soft lips,” the Dark Lord purred. “You’re my perfect Consort, aren’t you?”

Draco shuddered, and tried to turn his expression into something pleased. “I try, my lord,” he whispered. He ducked his head and hoped that the Dark Lord didn’t see the hatred in his eyes, or hear it in his voice. Or that he didn’t hear the fear, because there was plenty of that as well.

“Aren’t you pleased to be with me?” the Dark Lord asked, his voice a sickening croon.

“Of course, my lord,” Draco whispered. He took another desperate swallow of wine. Maybe if he drank enough, if he passed out…

“This is going to be our first time, my Draco,” the Dark Lord was whispering. “I know it isn’t your first time, whore that you are, but I won’t hold it against you. You’re young, and young things do stupid things all the time. But you won’t be stupid with yourself anymore, will you, my Draco?”

Draco shivered. Young and stupid. That summed up his life well enough. How stupid had he been, to think that his father actually loved him? Lucius didn’t love him at all. Lucius had been all too willing to trade Draco’s body for the Dark Lord’s favor.

“Of course not, my lord,” he said. He smiled, the expression as genuine as he could make it. It wasn’t hard. Why shouldn’t he laugh at his own stupidity? Really, he deserved everything he got at this point. He’d made the person who would love him the most miserable for years at Hogwarts.

This was probably the best he could ever hope for.

And when the Dark Lord took him to bed that night, and it hurt more than anything ever had in his life, Draco just continued to smile. His body betrayed him, and Draco laughed through it all. Everything was terrible, and he would probably be killed soon enough by the Dark Lord, because he couldn’t see himself keeping the Dark Lord’s favor any longer than anyone else.

This was his life now, he supposed. At least until he went back to Hogwarts, assuming the Dark Lord let him.

And who knew? Maybe when he got there, he could beg Dumbledore for some kind of sanctuary, if it wasn’t too late. How stupid he’d been to come home, to trust that his father wouldn’t hurt him, to…

Well.

How stupid he’d been.

  
ooOOooOOoo

Draco wrapped his robe more tightly around himself, hoping to ward off the chill, hoping it would help him feel less naked. It wasn’t really a physical chill, so his hopes were in vain. All it did was remind him of how very flimsy the thing he wore was, and how much he hated the monster who had given it to him to wear.

Potter had been in the Manor. Draco hadn’t had any idea how that would play out, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t have been the one to make Potter suffer the way that he’d been suffering. So when told to identify him, Draco did what he’d been doing for what felt like an eternity: he lied.

It was no wonder that Voldemort was furious with him. The Dark Lord might be a monster, but he was a brilliant one. He’d fucked Draco raw that night, the night that Potter and his allies escaped, and Draco had been powerless to do anything other than what the Dark Lord commanded.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been cursed with the Imperius Curse for the Dark Lord’s amusement, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It was the first time he’d been forced to struggle, to beg the Dark Lord to stop, though, and it had hurt more than Draco could imagine.

Not physically. The physical pain was almost negligible at this point. But… emotionally… being forced to beg the way he’d wanted to beg since all of this started…

Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms more tightly around himself. The thin, filmy robe did him no good, and holding himself did even less. Especially when he felt something slithering around his ankles.

The snake. The damned snake, that was always around him now, guarding the Dark Lord’s ‘greatest treasure,’ or whatever the monster was calling Draco these days. Draco didn’t know. Honestly, he tried his best to ignore the way that the Dark Lord petted him in front of his followers, the way that he’d…

No.

No, Draco wasn’t going there. He didn’t need to think about how his parents had seen him splayed open for… no.

“What’s the matter, my dragon?” the Dark Lord crooned behind him, his voice sickeningly sweet. Cold, strong arms wound around his waist, and Draco didn’t bother to fight back. “Have you decided that you would rather not defy me any longer?”

“I couldn’t be sure, my lord,” Draco said through stiff lips. He was holding to that story, even though they both knew it was a lie.

“Of course you couldn’t,” the Dark Lord said, and forced his lips apart in a brutal kiss.

Draco didn’t bother to struggle. Instead, he stared out the window, and wondered if it was high enough. If a fall from it would kill him.

But they were only on the second story, and Draco couldn’t be sure.

“We’re going to take Hogwarts soon,” the Dark Lord murmured against his lips. “And then you’ll see me kill the boy. And then you’ll know that I am your greatest love.” The Dark Lord stroked his cold fingers along Draco’s bare wrist, and Draco shuddered at the violation, which was somehow worse than all the others.

“Please,” he said, the word pried from his lips entirely against his will.

“No, my darling,” the monster crooned, his eyes dancing with pleasure. “You’ll see Potter die, and then you won’t have to worry about what his name on your wrist means, because you’ll be only mine for the rest of your life.”

If Potter lost to the Dark Lord, Draco decided in that moment, the rest of his life wasn’t going to be that long, because he couldn’t do this forever. “Yes, my lord,” he agreed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was being perfectly honest.

ooOOooOOoo

“We’d rather you didn’t go back to Hogwarts,” Narcissa said, her words stiff.

“It’s just that things might not be safe for you there,” Lucius agreed.

Draco laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Since when have you two ever cared about my safety?” he asked. He shook his head and picked up his trunk. “I’m going back to finish, and that’s final.”

It was over. The Dark Lord was dead, and his father had somehow, miraculously, escaped punishment once more. His mother, he knew, had been a small hero during a crucial moment of the war, and had earned her pardon that way. His father… who knew what he’d done to end up free again.

Draco wished they’d both gone to Azkaban. But then, if they’d both gone, chances were that he would be there as well, and he knew he wouldn’t last long there. Not that he had many happy memories for the Dementors to take from him.

“Draco,” Lucius started, only to stop when Draco fingered his wand.

“I have your name on my wrist,” he quietly confessed, touching the wrist in question. It felt so good to have his bracers back on, to know that no one could make him take them off now if he didn’t want to. He’d spent a pretty penny on them, and it was absolutely worth it.

Lucius’ eyes widened and he took a single step back. “Draco,” he started again.

Narcissa didn’t say anything.

“When I was younger, I didn’t understand. How could you be my greatest love? Surely you would never be the one to hurt me the most.” Draco swallowed. He smiled, the expression bitter. “How foolish I was. The damage that you and Narcissa allowed to be done to me, Lucius, is something that I can never forgive. You stand before me and presume to have power over me, but the only reason that you’re still here is because you bought your safety with my body.”

He took a deep breath and picked up his trunk. Just before he Apparated away, he said into the silence, “You have no more power over me. We’re through.”

And then he was gone.  



	2. Harry

When Harry turned five, names appeared on his wrist.

Harry frowned at them.

He couldn’t remember writing them, but he supposed he must have. Who would sneak into his cupboard just to write names on his wrists? That would be silly. At least, he thought it would be silly. He tried to wash them off in the garden hose after he finished his weeding for the day, but it didn’t do any good.

He frowned harder, and then he went to see Aunt Petunia.

“Aunt Petunia?” he asked, his voice shaking. She hated it when he bothered her for unimportant things, and he had the feeling that whatever was on his wrist counted as something unimportant. But if she saw them and got mad at him…

Harry didn’t want her to be mad at him. He got hurt when she was upset with him.

“What?” Aunt Petunia asked, not looking up from her magazine.

“There’re names on my wrists, and I didn’t write them there,” he said. He offered them to her, his hands trembling as he did so. She’d be angry; he just knew it.

Sure enough, her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. She stared at his wrists, then glowered at him. “You need to keep those hidden,” she hissed. She stood up and advanced on Harry, and when she grabbed one of his wrists, she squeezed so hard that he felt his bones creak.

He flinched, and didn’t argue when she dragged him up the stairs so quickly that he stumbled on the steps. She grabbed a towel from the laundry bin, one of the old and worn ones that he used to clean with, and tore it in half. She tied one half of each towel around each of Harry’s forearms, so that none of the names were visible.

“These are dirty,” she snarled. Her fingers were still tight on Harry’s wrists, the grip still making his bones creak. Harry didn’t dare try to pull away because he thought she might break his bones if he did. “They’re dirty, and they’re secret. You can’t show them to anyone, ever. Do you understand me, boy?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said. He ducked his head to escape the hatred in her eyes. He would never understand what he’d done that was so terrible that the Dursleys hated him, but it was always so hard to face.

“Then that’s the last I want to hear of them,” she said, her voice short and sharp. She let him go, and Harry fought the urge to rub at his wrists where she’d gripped them. It would only make her angry if he did, and he didn’t want to make her angry again.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he said again, dutifully. He would never mention them to her again.

Maybe one day he would find out what they were, but that information would never come from his Aunt, and he supposed that was fine. It wasn’t like names could do anything to hurt him, anyway.

Still. He did kind of wonder who Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy were. They were strange names, the strangest he’d ever heard. Especially the second one.

ooOOooOOoo

It wasn’t until he turned eleven that he learned what the names were, and that was thanks to a half-giant who also told him that he was a wizard.

Hagrid was nice enough, and Harry liked him quite a lot, but he wasn’t exactly sure that the information the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts gave him was correct. What did it mean, anyway, that names were Fate? And why did he have to keep them a secret?

He didn’t understand.

He found a children’s book on them, though, in the bookstore, and even though he was embarrassed to buy something for such a young child, he still did so. It wouldn’t hurt to have some information about it, right?

He read it while he waited for his turn with Madam Malkin, much to the sneering amusement of the blond boy sitting next to him. The boy was a bully just like Dudley, and Harry kind of hated him. He was glad when he finished before he had to answer the other boy’s invasive questions, and when he found out on the train that the boy’s name was Draco Malfoy, he couldn’t help but be disappointed a little bit.

According to the book, one person was going to hurt him the most, or be his greatest enemy. One of the two, and it wasn’t clear which. The other would be the love of his life, and on that the book was certain.

Most people had the joy of trying to figure out which person was which on their arms, and Harry knew immediately that he wasn’t going to have that chance.

There was no way that Draco Malfoy would be anything other than his greatest enemy, or the person who hurt him the most. He definitely wouldn’t be the love of Harry’s life.

Not with that monstrous attitude. How could Harry love anyone who acted like Dudley?

Harry didn’t even bother to shake the other boy’s hand. Why make friends with someone that Fate told you would hurt you? That didn’t make sense at all.

And the book that he’d read was perfectly clear: there was no avoiding the Fate that was your names. Still, Harry didn’t plan to make it easy on Fate.

If Draco Malfoy was going to hurt him, well, that was fine. Harry would just do his best to ignore the blond boy. He just hoped that his meeting with Ginny Weasley, who was apparently related to the redhead who’d joined him in the train car, went better than his meeting with Draco Malfoy.

Then again, it would be hard for it to be worse.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry’s meeting with Ginny had been… well, anticlimactic, which at least wasn’t terrible. She was sweet, and shy, and Harry really wanted to get to know her, but she’d spent most of the year avoiding him. Harry supposed that made sense, given what they now knew about the diary.

“We have to go save her,” Harry said, his voice a little breathless. She was destined to be his greatest love. He couldn’t let her die before they’d ever really had a chance! What would that be like?

“Of course we do,” Ron agreed. He gave Harry a funny look. “I knew you’d help me.”

How could Harry not help him? Ginny was the other name on his wrist! He wanted to tell Ron that, to explain, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. He’d learned a lot more about names since his first year, and nobody ever shared them with anyone other than the person whose name was there.

“Of course I will!” Harry hesitated, glancing in the direction of Myrtle’s bathroom. “But… don’t you think we should get help from a teacher? One of the professors would probably be better able to handle a basilisk than we are.”

“Like Lockhart!’ Ron said, seizing on the idea. “Of course we should get him. He’s a fraud, sure, but he has to have done at least some of the things in his books, right?”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that, and he definitely didn’t think that he would have chosen to go after Lockhart if he had to ask a professor for help. Still, it was Ron’s sister, and he was just going to help, so he went along with the plan.

Besides, even if Lockhart was a total fraud, Harry was more than confident in his and Ron’s abilities. If Lockhart couldn’t do anything, he and Ron would manage. He’d done just fine when going after Quirrell in his first year, after all.

They did manage to rescue Ginny, in the end, without Lockhart and without Ron, really. She was so grateful when she woke up, and she stared at Harry with adoration in her eyes, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure why, but the expression made his stomach crawl.

ooOOooOOoo

There was a madman on the loose, and Dementors were haunting the school, but Harry was having a bit of trouble focusing on all of that. It was all important, and of course he was trying to pay attention, but he was a bit more worried about Ginny.

She was fine; it wasn’t like last year, where something terrible had been wrong. It was just…

“The names on your wrist,” Harry started, a bit awkwardly as he looked between Ron and Hermione. “Are they always a romantic love?” He felt horrible even asking the question, but he’d tried to research it himself and hadn’t had any success.

“I think so,” Hermione said, sounding uncertain for almost the first time since he’d known her. “Ron, have you ever heard of it being anything else?”

Ron shook his head. “Not really,” he said, and took a big bite of his dinner. He chewed and swallowed. “I mean, we don’t really learn too much about them, other than what they are and the etiquette of not giving away your names before it’s time, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone’s greatest love being a non-romantic kind. What other kinds are there, anyway?”

That set Hermione off, listing the different kinds of love, starting with familial and quickly devolving into words that Harry thought maybe he should know, but didn’t.

Ron’s answer didn’t help him, not that he’d really thought it would. He was going to love Ginny, but at the moment, that didn’t seem possible. Not when he didn’t feel any kind of attraction towards her. Or, well, more specifically, to any woman. There wasn’t anything wrong with them, of course, but…

When he thought about people in that sort of way, he found his eyes drifting more towards Ron, or occasionally Oliver or the twins. Never to Ginny, or Hermione, or any of the other girls.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe the attack he’d suffered as a child had damaged something inside of him, and he’d never be able to love properly, the way that he was supposed to.

When he went to practice his Patronus that night, he thought briefly about talking it over with Professor Lupin, who’d been nothing but kind to him since he’d started working at the school. But Harry couldn’t imagine having that kind of talk with an adult, especially because he didn’t know what he’d do if the professor agreed and Harry really was broken.

Everyone said that names were Fate, and Harry decided that he would have to believe in that. Because if it was Fate that he would love Ginny, then that meant that something would happen. Harry just had to trust that Fate wasn’t going to hurt him.

ooOOooOOoo

In fourth year, Harry at least had the opportunity to be distracted by that godforsaken Tri-Wizard Tournament. He hadn’t wanted to enter, hadn’t entered, but at least it was serving as a distraction to his very definite problem.

Viktor Krum was gorgeous, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. And Fleur? The Veela, who allegedly attracted males left and right? She was doing nothing for him.

Which was fine. There was nothing wrong with being gay. But there was everything wrong with being gay when his greatest love was supposed to be Ginny Weasley.

The alternative was unthinkable.

Harry watched as Malfoy swept through the hall, his obnoxious “Potter Sucks” badge making Harry’s nose wrinkle. No, Malfoy couldn’t be his greatest love, not with the way he treated Harry all the time. It had to be Ginny.

He went to see Hermione, who was studying by the lake.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, closing her book and looking up at him. She squinted a bit in the sunlight, but didn’t complain about the bright light in her eyes.

Harry sat down next to her anyway, trying to make it easier to have a conversation. “Do you remember talking about names last year?” he asked, looking down at his hands. It would be easier to talk to her if he didn’t have to look at her.

She hummed a little, sounding like she was searching her memory. Then she brightened. “Of course! You’d asked Ron if he was sure that your greatest love was always a romantic one, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed. “And you didn’t know either, but I think you both suspected that was the case. But… did you ever look into it further?” He knew that Hermione was insatiably curious, and if any of his friends had done some kind of research, it would have been her.

“I did, actually,” she said, and smiled at him. “I spoke with Headmaster Dumbledore about it when I had the opportunity to. He explained that one’s greatest love is always a romantic one. He was also telling me about a fascinating wizard who had the same name on both of his wrists…”

Harry let her babble a bit more about the wizard with the same name, his mind drifting off. Always a romantic love. It was always romantic.

He rubbed at the wrist with Ginny’s name on it. He didn’t love her, not like that. He didn’t think he did, anyway. Maybe it was something he’d grow into? It was the only thing he could think of. He just wished that he could think of a way to spend more time with her in a non-creepy way.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice gentle. She rested a hand on his arm.

It was only then that Harry realized she’d been quiet for some time. “Sorry,” he said, ducking his head again. “I’m just… having some trouble.”

She nodded at the wrist he was rubbing. “I got that,” she said, her voice a bit dry. “I know that they say you aren’t supposed to talk about it, but if you want to…”

Harry shook his head. He got it, the intense privacy that most wizards kept regarding their names. “No, but thank you,” he said. He supposed he could have told her what was going on in general terms, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to.

It wasn’t because he didn’t trust her or anything like that, it was just that he needed more time to really decide what he was feeling.

What good would talking about it do, anyway? It wasn’t like he could just change his sexuality. Maybe… maybe he was bisexual, and just hadn’t come into it yet.

Harry supposed there was nothing to do but wait and see, but he’d never been good at adopting that particular strategy.

ooOOooOOoo

“I don’t know why I said yes to her,” Harry said, his breathing speeding up. What was he thinking? Even if Ginny was his greatest love, he still didn’t have any feelings for Cho! He thought she was pretty, sure, in the way that most girls were pretty to him. He could appreciate the aesthetics of them, but never found himself truly interested in them.

What was he thinking, agreeing to go out on a date with her?

“She’s really pretty,” Ron said from where he was flopped onto his own bed. “And you were going to ask her to the Yule Ball last year. Why wouldn’t you agree to go out with her?”

Because Harry had only wanted to ask her to the Ball because he’d had to ask someone. Because he didn’t much like the idea of her asking him just because he’d been there when Cedric had died, even though he wasn’t entirely sure that was the reason. Because he still wasn’t attracted to any woman, much less Cho Chang.

“I can’t do this,” he said, and buried his face in his pillow. Maybe if he smothered himself then he wouldn’t have to try and handle being on a date with her.

“You can,” Ron said. Harry heard him move, then felt the bed dip. “Listen, Harry, is this about your names?” he asked, his voice oddly gentle. “I know you’ve been having some trouble with the concept of them.”

It was, a bit. Harry rolled over and stared up at Ron. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “It’s a bit about them.”

“You’re thinking that you have to wait until you find your greatest love to go on a date,” Ron said, nodding like he understood. “But Harry, only a handful of people actually do that. Most of us go out and date and have fun like anyone else! You might not meet your person until you’re in your thirties, or later! I heard a story once of a couple who didn’t meet until they were fifty-three.” Ron laughed, his eyes bright, inviting Harry to share in the joke.

Harry didn’t think it was particularly funny. Still, he laughed, the sound a little weak. “That would suck,” he said. He glanced down at his wrist that had Ginny’s name on it. “I’ve already met them both,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Have you really?” Ron asked, shock in his voice. “I’ve met one of mine, and it’s not exactly abnormal, but to have met both…”

“Yeah.” Harry had done a bit of research on his own. Meeting both before eighteen was a rarity in the wizarding world.

“Well, I guess it makes sense. He Who Must Not Be Named has to be one of them, right?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. He looked up at Ron, frowning. “Things would be a lot easier if he were, honestly. Then I’d know for sure which one was which.”

“You don’t know?” Ron glanced down at Harry’s covered wrists, then looked back up.

“No,” Harry said. “I thought I did, but lately…” He shook his head and smiled. “It’s fine. I have time to figure it out, right? It’s not like there’s any rush or anything.”

“No, no rush,” Ron said, the words slow. He shook his head, like he was shaking something off, then smiled at Harry. “So, Cho. You’re still gonna go to Hogsmeade with her, right? Because Harry, mate, I gotta tell you, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to hit you on principle if you stand her up.”

Harry levered himself off the bed with great effort. “Yeah,” he muttered. He headed in the general direction of the bathroom, looking to at least wipe his face before he went to get her. “Yeah, I’m going.”

He just hoped it wasn’t going to be the disaster he thought it was, and hoped that maybe while he was there he could figure out if he could ever be attracted to a girl. Because right then, it was seeming more and more likely that he’d been wrong about which of his names belonged to which person.

But even if he was wrong, how could Ginny Weasley ever be the one who would hurt him the most?

ooOOooOOoo

Ginny’s hand was warm in his own, and she was clutching his hand as tightly as he was clutching at hers as he led her to somewhere private. As private as he could, given the chaos in the castle. The Headmaster’s death, the Death Eaters in the school…

The hunt for the rest of the Horcruxes that he was about to go on...

Harry felt like none of it had sunken in. He didn’t understand everything that had happened, but he knew that he had to talk to Ginny. He had to make her understand.

“I love you,” Harry whispered. He leaned in, and when she met him with a kiss, something in him eased. She loved him too, of course she did. “But you can’t come with me,” he whispered when he pulled back.

There was a spark of defiance in her eyes that he adored. “You can’t stop me,” she said, her voice a little sharp. When Harry winced, she added, “I’m just as good in a fight as my brother, you know. Better, even, since I have a vested interest in keeping you safe.”

She rubbed Harry’s covered wrist, the one with her name on it, proprietarily.

Harry hadn’t been sure about showing it to her, but everyone had said that he’d know when the time was right, and how could the time not be right when they’d just been on the most magical date of his life? And when he knew that what Dumbledore had him doing over the course of the year was dangerous, could get him hurt or killed…

Harry hadn’t been able to bear the thought of dying without Ginny knowing how much he loved her, without her knowing that she was it for him. She was his greatest love. How could he have ever thought he wouldn’t be able to love her?

He was so glad that he’d been wrong.

“I know,” he said, catching back up to the conversation. “I know that you’re good in a fight, and Ginny, I would absolutely trust you by my side, but I need you to be safe.” He emphasized the word ‘safe’, hoping that she would understand.

She sighed and looked away from him. “I don’t want you to leave me behind,” she said. She stroked the skin just above his gauntlet with a gentle finger. “If you leave me, Harry, and something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I’ll be okay,” he promised. He kissed her again, and smiled against her lips when she relaxed into him. “I’ll take care of myself, and you know that Ron and Hermione will look after me.”

“They’d better,” Ginny said, her voice dark with promise. “Because Harry, I love you so much, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Harry leaned in and kissed her again. He didn’t know what he would do without her. He loved her more than anything in the world, and he would do anything he had to in order to give her a world without Voldemort.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry just barely made it out of the tent before throwing up. He gagged, bile spewing from his mouth, along with everything he’d eaten that day. He threw up until there wasn’t anything left in his stomach, and then he threw up some more.

How had he thought he loved her? How could she have…

“Harry,” Hermione was saying. There were hands on his back, he was realizing, two of them. They were gentle, and Ron was kneeling next to him, helping to keep him from falling forward into the pile of vomit he’d left behind.

“What’s wrong, mate?” Ron asked, his voice urgent. “Does it have something to do with your scar?”

For once, that wasn’t the problem at all. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse from throwing up. “I don’t…” he took a deep breath and sat back, leaning away from the mess he’d made. “Water?” he asked finally, not sure how he could begin to explain.

“Yeah, of course,” Hermione said. She gave him a bottle, and Harry drained it. He put the empty bottle down with a hand that was shaking. Hermione sat next to him after banishing the pile of vomit. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I don’t love Ginny,” Harry said. His voice was still hoarse. Now it had more to do with the magnitude of what he was realizing. He didn’t love her, and he never had. He’d never been at all attracted to her before sixth year, and now that he wasn’t near her anymore, the attraction was gone as though it had never been.

What had she dosed him with, and why had she done it?

“You don’t… Harry, mate, it’s not okay to lead a girl on,” Ron said, frowning. “Especially not my sister. You know she loves you more than anything.”

Harry swallowed and touched the wrist with her name on it. “Yeah,” he said. “She loves me enough that she’d do anything to make sure that I love her back, right?”

Hermione blinked. “What are you saying, Harry?” Her voice was hushed, like she had some idea but didn’t want to say it out loud.

Harry couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to say it out loud either. “I’m gay,” he said finally. He touched his other wrist, the one with Draco’s name on it. He should have been trying to befriend Draco all along, and now…

Now it was too late. Too late by far.

He gagged again, and almost threw up again. He managed not to, but it was only by the skin of his teeth.

“What the hell were you doing dating my sister if you’re gay?” Ron was shouting, going red in the face.

Harry swallowed. “I didn’t want to,” he said. It hurt to say those words out loud. “Ron, I never wanted to date her. Not before sixth year, when… when suddenly she was all I could think about.”

She’d potioned him. She’d dosed him with some kind of love potion, that was the only explanation Harry could think of. How could she do that to someone? How could she do that to him? Harry had never… he never would have…

He gagged again, and this time there was no stopping it. He threw up again, but Ron didn’t help him this time. Hermione did, her hands still gentle, her words soothing as she told him that it would be okay, that she wouldn't let anyone potion him again.

“You think she potioned you? Why would Ginny do that?” Ron asked blankly. “Harry, look, I’m mad at you for stringing her along, but you don’t need to lie like this.”

That hurt, that Ron thought he was lying. Harry didn’t bother to defend himself. He just let it go. Ron wasn’t going to believe him, he knew that. He wouldn’t understand when Harry looked into what she’d done and found out if he could get her arrested, wouldn’t get it when Harry tried to explain how violated he felt, like he couldn’t trust his own mind anymore.

He hated Ginny Weasley.

No wonder it was her name on his wrist and not Voldemort’s. He’d never given Voldemort the chance to betray him. He’d been so desperate to believe that Ginny was his greatest love that he’d walked right into her betrayal.

He deserved this.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry made sure to sit as far back in the train as he could, knowing that it wouldn’t be far enough, but still making the attempt. He didn’t want to be found by any of the other students. He wanted to wear his Cloak to hide under, but he wasn’t quite that desperate.

Killing Voldemort had been bad enough. The media storm that had followed that had been a nightmare for Harry. And the one that followed getting Ginny arrested? That had been even worse.

He didn’t have the support he’d once had. The Weasleys weren’t talking to him anymore, not since he’d gotten their precious Ginny thrown into Azkaban. Harry almost felt bad for that. He thought that no one deserved to be at the mercy of the Dementors, but he hadn’t deserved to have his own mind and emotions stripped away from him.

He felt sorry for the Weasleys, for all that they’d lost, but the death of one of the twins in no way made up for what Ginny had done to him, and Molly should be ashamed of herself for even suggesting it.

They all should be ashamed of themselves.

But they weren’t, and that was fine. Harry would just never deal with them again. He didn’t want to, anyway.

He told himself that, but it hurt to know that he no longer had a family, in any sense of the word. The Dursleys had never counted, but he’d always had the Weasleys, and now he had nothing. Probably not even Hermione, who’d already announced her engagement to Ron.

He’d lost it all. He’d lost his chance to be with his greatest love, lost the only real family he’d ever known, lost all of his friends.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to make it through the year with nothing terrible happening to him. It would be a first at Hogwarts, but Harry supposed he was ready for something new.

Harry rubbed his wrist, the one with Draco’s name on it, and felt such a sense of regret that it almost burned.

If he could have nothing else, if there was no chance of ever meeting the other part of his Fate, a quiet year was exactly what he deserved.


	3. Together

Draco hadn’t considered, when he’d been telling his parents off, just how intimidating Platform 9 ¾ would be. He hadn’t been prepared for the wave of silence that spread out around him as he was noticed, for the way that families stilled and parents placed their hands on their wands as they pressed their children just slightly behind themselves.

He should have been ready for it, and he regretted that it had simply never occurred to him that he would need to be.

He did not let their fear shame him. He’d done what he had to in order to survive, and had suffered more than most of them could imagine. Instead, he forced himself to hold his head high, to stare straight at the train as he swept through the crowds. He kept his hands well away from his wand, however. Just because he wasn’t going to show fear didn’t mean that he wanted to spark a riot.

And he had the feeling that this crowd, as easily frightened as they were, would riot quickly. He wouldn’t come out of such a thing in good condition, he knew, if he was lucky enough to come out at all.

He entered the train unmolested, and as the doors slid shut behind him, he heard a cacophony of whispers begin, ones that contained his name spoken in incredulous tones. He couldn’t really blame them for that. He, too, had trouble believing that he had the courage to show his face on the Platform. It was positively Gryffindor of him.

He walked through the train, ignoring the way that whispers followed him. It was something that he would have to expect in the coming year. Honestly, he’d been stunned to receive the invitation from Headmistress McGonagall personally, and couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, had underestimated the fear that he was apparently inspiring.

Then he remembered the threat she’d made if he so much as put a toe out of line and decided that she hadn’t underestimated anything.

But maybe it was worse than she’d anticipated, the fear that still burned like fire. He wondered, a bit morbidly, if he’d be met at Hogwarts only with a sympathetic expression and an invitation to turn back, as the reaction from everyone else had been worse than anticipated.

It was the life that Draco was beginning to prepare for, and as horrifying as it was, he supposed that it was his life, and he would do what he could with it. No matter how it turned out.

He went through the train, ignoring the compartment that he’d once sat in with all of his friends. They weren’t there this year. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he was the only Slytherin who’d taken the invitation to return for a final year, and if he wasn’t, he couldn’t imagine that whoever else had would be eager to associate with him.

He finally found a compartment that he’d genuinely believed was empty, and started to settle down, but froze when someone softly cleared their throat behind him. He spun around, his wand springing to his hand, and his heart dropped when he found himself looking at Harry Potter, who looked more tired than he had even when he’d been captured during the war. There were shadows under his eyes that spoke of more than poor sleep, and he looked practically gaunt.

Draco wondered if he didn’t look similar. It was hard to sleep these days, because every time he closed his eyes, he found himself in Voldemort’s bed. Or worse, heard his father giving him away again. Draco didn’t think that those memories would ever leave them.

“Potter,” he managed to say, forcing the word through dry lips. His heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just from finally seeing the other half of his Fate and, more importantly, understanding it. Draco was too jaded to believe that he was ever really going to find happiness with Harry.

No, he was concerned that, if anything should happen and they should come to blows, nobody would ever believe that he hadn’t started it. Whether he had or hadn’t. And Draco didn’t intend to start anything.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice just as soft, just as hoarse. He stood, keeping his hands clear of his wand.

It was the only thing that gave Draco the courage to lower his own, to return it to its holster. “I can go,” he said, and shifted slightly, getting ready to grab his trunk. He couldn’t quite bring himself to turn his back on Harry, mostly because he knew how dangerous the other man was.

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. He looked down at Draco’s hands, then glanced towards his own. Then, startling Draco, he stuck his right one out in a very familiar gesture. “Do you think we could start over?” he asked, a sort of wistfulness in his voice that Draco had never expected.

Draco stared at his outstretched hand and remembered the time he’d stood there, waiting, just like that. It felt like an eternity ago, and a part of him still hated the way that he’d been rejected. But, then again, Draco was no longer the same boy he’d once been, and he knew that Harry wasn’t either.

“I think that we could,” he said finally. He stepped forward, still hesitant, and took Harry’s hand in his own, shaking once. The touch of his hand was electric, and Draco wondered if Harry could feel it too. He didn’t think he had the courage to ask.

“Then please, won’t you sit with me? Maybe between the two of us we can intimidate anyone else looking to sit here.” There was a slight hint of laughter in Harry’s voice, but it was a bitter sort of laughter that made Draco hurt because he understood it all too well.

“Of course,” Draco said, and settled on the bench across from Harry.

They sat in silence until the train lurched into motion, and even then, the car stayed silent. Draco studied Harry in the quiet of the compartment, his eyes tracing over the shadows under Harry’s. A part of him felt sorry for the other man, because everyone had heard about what had happened between him and the Weasley family.

Draco knew what it was like to be touched without permission, and it was awful. He could only imagine how much worse it had to be coming from someone Harry had thought was a friend.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, his eyes going wide.

Draco could feel the blood leaving his face as he realized that he’d just spoken out loud. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. “I said that I know what it’s like to be touched without consent.” It was much harder to get the words out the second time, if only because he hadn’t realized he’d been speaking during the first time.

A hand touched his, light and hesitant, and Draco’s eyes jerked up to find that Harry was staring at him from warm, compassionate eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice very soft.

And Draco… he thought that maybe he did. Because if there was one person who probably wasn’t going to mock him after everything they’d both been through, it was probably Harry.

  
ooOOooOOoo

At first, Harry hadn’t imagined that his luck would actually work in his favor when Draco settled in across from him on the train. His luck was normally so terrible, that the idea of having it working in his favor for once… Well, he had to wonder if someone had slipped him Felix Felicis or something.

Then again, it wasn’t like there was anyone left who would be nice enough to slip him a potion like that.

And then Draco was saying that he knew what it was like to be touched without consent, and Harry’s eyes widened. When had… he didn’t want to think of anyone else… but that was unrealistic, wasn’t it? He found himself reaching out to Draco, who looked so broken across from him, and asking quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco flinched when his hand made contact, and Harry felt guilty. He went to pull his hand back, but Draco’s own hand twisted and clutched at his own, like he was desperate for a lifeline. Harry understood what that was like.

“I don’t want to burden you,” Draco said hesitantly, and he released Harry’s hand. “I know that… with what happened with the Weasleys and all, I’m sure that you don’t need to hear about what I went through.”

Harry thought about Draco’s name on his wrist and wondered if he would even be thinking about putting himself through this if he didn’t know that Draco was destined to be something so very precious to him. He wondered if it made him a bad person, letting Draco’s name on his wrist influence him, or if it just made him a normal person.

He hoped it made him a normal person. “I want to hear about it, if you want to tell me,” Harry said honestly. He told himself that it didn’t matter that Draco’s name was on his wrist, that his motivations didn’t matter, but that didn’t feel right to him.

It felt like lying. Harry fingered Draco’s name on his wrist, rubbing the pale skin hidden under his gauntlet. Everyone said that you weren’t supposed to tell, but… but it wasn’t fair to not tell Draco, was it? That he had other motivations?

“I have your name on my wrist,” Harry blurted out before he could lose the courage, before Draco could maybe regret telling him something he wouldn’t otherwise.

Draco, whose lips had been parting to speak, went very still across from him. He swallowed, his eyes widening. “You’re not supposed to just blurt it out like that,” he whispered. He licked his lips, like they’d gone dry.

“I know,” Harry said miserably. “This whole name thing has never made sense to me. But I didn’t want to start befriending you only for you to find out that I have ulterior motives, because that’s not okay. Because I don’t. And even if we never become anything more than friends, I thought that you should know.”

Draco nodded and rubbed at one of his wrists. Then, quietly, he said, “Towards the end, He Who Must Not Be Named wouldn’t let me wear my gauntlets. It was a punishment for letting you go. I’m sure that others saw both of my names, and I’m surprised that nobody told anyone else.” His eyes were distant, staring off into a place that Harry couldn’t imagine.

He just couldn’t imagine how that would feel to someone who’d grown up understanding the privacy of the names, how important it was that secrecy be maintained. He couldn’t imagine how bad the violation would feel. He shivered. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Draco jumped a little, awareness coming back to his eyes. “That means that it’s probably not as much of a secret as it should be that your name is also on my wrist.”

Harry’s heart jumped. “Oh,” he breathed. He reached out, carefully once more, for Draco’s hand, and Draco reached out with his own, meeting him halfway. Harry felt the small spark when their hands connected, and he couldn’t help but smile, though the expression was sad. Of all the things that they shared in common… “I’m still willing to listen, and I don’t think it has anything to do with your names.”

Draco laughed, brightly amused, and when the laughter faded, a small smile remained. “Of course that’s what you’d be worried about, you absolute Gryffindor.” He ducked his head. “My father’s name is on my other wrist, and for the longest time, I assumed that you had to be the one who would hurt me the most, since my father couldn’t possibly be that person.” He cleared his throat, and his fingers tightened around Harry’s.

Harry wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what he could. He listened, instead, almost spellbound.

“I had some idea of the fact that I was wrong in fourth year, after a Durmstrang student assaulted me. I went to Lucius, and he… he didn’t care that I’d been hurt, he cared that I wasn’t pure, and now He Who Must Not Be Named could get out of the contract they’d made for me. And I… I still trusted that he wouldn’t really do it, and then, in sixth year, he gave me to him, to the Dark Lord, and I…” Draco shuddered and fell silent.

Harry’s heart shattered for him. He wanted to shift over and sit next to him, but he didn’t know if Draco would welcome it or not. So he didn’t move, just continued to hold Draco’s hand tightly, and sat in silence with him for a long time.

When Draco didn’t begin to speak again, Harry said quietly, “You know what happened between Ginny and I.” How couldn’t he? The whole wizarding world knew, it seemed. “She potioned me, and she did it with her Mum’s encouragement. And now my entire extended family won’t even speak to me, because I dared to prosecute their baby for what she did. So I… I do understand, Draco, and I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to believe that you were my enemy because I was so afraid of the alternative, and I didn’t understand how my best friend’s little sister could be the person who would hurt me the most, but here we are.”

“Both of us fools,” Draco whispered. “Both of us idiots who trusted the wrong people, and who got burned for it.”

Harry did believe that he’d been stupid, that he’d been blind to what Ginny had been planning for him, that he’d walked right into her trap, but… “We’re not stupid,” he said, his words quiet but strong. “We trusted people, but that doesn't mean that we deserved what happened to us. Either one of us. We were the victims, and we didn’t do anything wrong.”

Harry didn’t know how much he believed what he was saying, even though he was essentially parroting what his Mind Healer had once told him over the summer, but he thought that Draco probably needed to hear it. And maybe… maybe he needed to say it. Because as he did, the atmosphere in their compartment lightened, like the sun coming out on a cloudy day, and Harry felt himself relaxing into the warmth of Draco’s companionship.

The rest of the train ride passed in mostly silence, but Draco kept holding onto Harry’s hand, and Harry was delighted to have Draco’s hand in his own. It seemed like a good way for things to begin.

ooOOooOOoo

The curse hit Draco from behind, when he was least expecting it. It spread over him like ice, radiating out from the point in the small of his back where the curse had hit. He hadn’t recognized the incantation, he mused as he fell to the ground, so it couldn’t be that dark.

Then again, he supposed that it didn’t have to be. Whoever it was just had to get him disabled.

This was the second such attack in two days, and the third since the school year had begun last week. Headmistress McGonagall punished all perpetrators severely, but it didn’t seem to be making a difference. Draco was thinking that perhaps it had been a mistake for him to return to Hogwarts.

He tried to flip onto his back when he finally hit the ground, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t move. Had it been an _Immobulus?_ He didn’t think so. It didn’t feel quite like that, and he didn’t remember it being a blue spell. He’d seen the flash of the color just before it hit him.

He couldn’t even close his eyes, so he could see the shadows of his attacker as he drew near to him. He could hear him, too, as he said, “You shouldn’t have come back here, Death Eater scum.” Draco didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t mean much.

A hard blow connected with his ribs, and he realized that whoever this was, they weren’t doing things the traditional wizarding way. That was a problem. McGonagall caught the others because she’d caught them in the act, because their magic had set off alarms. This wouldn’t set off any alarms, he didn’t think.

Another blow connected with his stomach, and he would have curled in on himself if he could. As it was, he couldn’t quite manage it. He couldn’t do anything, not even to plead his case. But then again, he didn’t think that this person would care. Most people didn’t. His reasons for doing what he’d done didn’t matter. Only their pain did.

The third blow connected, and then Draco heard something shouted, a familiar voice ordering him to get away from him, and then the world spun hazily, and Draco lost more than a few minutes. When he came back to himself, there was someone on the ground beside him, a body stiff and unmoving, and Harry was kneeling between him and it.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked.

Draco would have responded, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even twitch his eyes to let Harry know that he was okay.

“I’ve sent for Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. A soft hand landed in his hair, and Draco wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lean into it. “I’m sorry, I know that you can’t say anything, but I hope that this is okay. I just… you frightened me, seeing you on the floor like that, with this asshole kicking the shit out of you. I thought for sure that you’d…”

Draco lost a little bit more time as Harry spoke, and then he was coming back to himself in a bed under Madam Pomfrey’s tender care. Harry was sitting beside him, his head in his hands.

When Draco cleared his throat, Harry jumped and jerked into alertness. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his words quick and eager.

“Better,” Draco said. His voice was hoarse. How long had he been out? “Did you stay with me the whole time?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed. “It’s only been a few hours,” he mumbled. He got up and got a pitcher of water and poured Draco a glass. He handed it to him, and supported him when Draco’s hands shook a little. “Roberts was really going to…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Anyway, the Aurors actually came for him, so I think maybe the attacks might stop.”

“The Aurors?” Draco echoed. Roberts hadn’t done much at all to him, not like the others. And he didn’t even know who Roberts was, not really, though the name did conjure up vague images of a third year boy in Ravenclaw. Skinny and pale, if Draco was right. Fragile looking, not that it mattered. “He didn’t hurt me that much. Others have—”

“That’s not right either,” Harry snapped, interrupting him. Then he flinched. “I mean, I just don’t think that people should have free reign to hex you with borderline-Black magic.”

Draco laughed a little. “Harry, I didn’t recognize the spell,” he said. He shifted and slowly, carefully, moved into a sitting position. His ribs ached, which made him think that maybe Roberts had managed to crack one. It wouldn’t surprise him.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked. He’d settled at Draco’s bedside once more, and his hand was twitching ever so slightly, moving just a little closer to Draco’s own hand with every twitch.

Honestly, it was almost adorable, not that Draco would ever say such a thing out loud. He couldn’t imagine that Harry would take it well. “It means that it couldn’t have been that bad of one,” he said out loud, instead, and reached out to take Harry’s hand. “I know most of the truly Black curses. This one, whatever it was, was probably minor.”

And was certainly nothing when compared to the Cruciatus that a fellow Slytherin had cast on him the very first night he’d been back. The Aurors hadn’t come out for that, nor had Draco expected them to. It led him to believe that the only reason they’d come in the first place was because of Harry.

Draco didn’t know how he felt about that.

“So what you’re saying is you don’t want this kid to go to Azkaban,” Harry said thoughtfully.

Draco blanched a little. He could understand why Harry had wanted to send Ginny to Azkaban, because the Weasley girl had hurt him terribly, but Draco could never imagine choosing to send someone there himself. Having spent some time there, only a week, he couldn’t imagine sending someone else there. It was a nightmare, worse even than…

Well, nothing was worse than being forced into being Voldemort’s whore, but it had been worse than almost everything else.

“I would never advocate for someone to go there,” Draco said, managing to force the words through stiff lips. “I understand why you would, but Harry, that place is just…” He shivered, suddenly cold. Too cold, his body shaking with the memory of Azkaban.

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing to my patient?” Madam Pomfrey asked as she bustled into the room. She tucked Draco’s blankets around him with brisk hands, then handed him a small square of chocolate. “For the curse, and for whatever’s got you shivering like that,” she said. “If you can keep down your dinner, you can go. And if Mr. Potter is bothering you—”

“He’s not,” Draco said quickly. He smiled at her, just a little, because it seemed that she was the same no matter what happened. “He’s not bothering me. He’s… we’re friends now, I think.”

“It’s true,” Harry said. He smiled. “I just… we were talking about Azkaban, and I… sort of forgot that Draco had spent time there.” This last was mumbled, and Harry sent Draco an ashamed look that made any irritation Draco might have been feeling fade away.

“Terrible place,” Madam Pomfrey murmured. “Just awful. Now I’ve fed you some Skele-Gro, and the ribs on your left side will be tender for a while, so I hope you weren’t planning on trying out for Quidditch this year. I’ll be by with dinner in about an hour.” She glanced at Harry, then back at Draco, and said, “I’ll bring two plates, shall I?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just bustled away, even though there wasn’t a single other patient in the infirmary.

Behind her, the conversation that Harry and Draco had been having before her arrival dissolved into soft laughter that left more warmth in its wake than chocolate ever could.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry opened his eyes on the Saturday morning after the attack on Draco with the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something. What was it? He was fully intending on spending the day studying, since he had to do some serious catch up work in Potions, but something niggled at the back of his mind…

He brushed it aside as he rolled out of bed, stood, and stretched. Neville was asleep in the bed next to him, snoring lightly. He was the only other Gryffindor boy to come back for this year. Ron was off doing… whatever it was that he was doing. Harry didn’t know, and he didn’t particularly want to ask. He didn’t even know that he could, since Hermione wasn’t really taking to him.

He didn’t actually blame her for that. She loved Ron deeply, and with Harry’s exile from the Weasley clan… well, it made sense that he’d lost her as a friend. It hurt, but he understood it.

He took a quick shower, then got dressed and headed downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. As he sat there, eating quietly, his nose buried in a book, he noticed that it was louder than it normally was at this time of morning. He looked up to find that Gryffindor table had several students there, all of them with their brooms.

Oh. That was what he was forgetting. It was Quidditch tryouts.

Harry considered, for just a minute, going up to his room and grabbing his Firebolt. He loved flying, always had and always would, and Quidditch was the easiest way to fly while he was at Hogwarts. But… he didn’t really have time for it, did he?

With a small, regretful sigh, Harry went back to his book and his breakfast.

It wasn’t so long after the sound died down as the hopefuls left for tryouts that Harry felt someone settling next to him. He glanced up out of the corner of his eye and was surprised to see Hermione waiting patiently, her own book closed.

Harry forced himself to sit up, to look her in the eye. “What’s up?” he asked. They hadn’t spoken much, but they hadn’t actively argued. Maybe she was here to strike up a proper friendship again? Harry didn’t know.

“The Weasleys have asked me to approach you with a request,” she said, her voice a little thin. Her lips, when she finished speaking, were pursed tightly together. It was clear that she didn’t plan to enjoy the conversation she was about to have with Harry.

“What sort of request?” Harry asked warily. He didn’t know that he was inclined to listen to anything that the family had in mind for him.

“About Ginny,” Hermione clarified. “They think that it’s unfair that you pushed so hard for her to go to Azkaban.”

Harry gathered his things and stood up. Even if he hadn’t been finished his breakfast, he didn’t think he’d be willing to eat anymore. He just wasn’t hungry. “I disagree,” he said coldly, and he walked away. If he didn’t, he felt like he was going to explode.

Hermione didn’t take the hint, and she followed him as he stalked towards the library. “Harry,” she started. When Harry didn’t slow, she let out a frustrated sound and got in front of him, then planted her feet in place.

Harry could have gone through her, and he was a bit tempted to do so, but he didn’t. “What?” he snapped.

“I don’t disagree that Ginny needed to be punished,” she said, her voice coaxing, like Harry was the one being unreasonable. “Of course she does. Potioning you the way that she did was terrible. But Harry, have you considered that sending her to Azkaban was, in a way, just as monstrous?”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he said as patiently as he could, “I haven’t. She raped me, Hermione. She deserved to go to prison for that.”

“Of course she did, but the prison isn’t a fair prison!” Hermione snapped. “It’s a place to send monsters, and yes, what Ginny did to you was terrible, but I don’t think she’s a monster! I think that she deserved to go to a regular prison, but not to have every bit of her happiness sucked away! She’s not even an Animagus, she can’t defend herself like Sirius could, and you saw how bad he was when he got out!”

“If she didn’t want to go to Azkaban, she shouldn’t have broken the law,” Harry said. He pushed off the feelings of lingering guilt that he felt. Maybe he should make an appointment with another Mind Healer soon, if he was feeling guilty for sending Ginny to prison again…

“That’s not fair!” Hermione looked almost like she was about to stomp her foot, and her scowl was fierce. “Harry, she loved you so very much, she had your name on her wrist!”

“And I had hers,” Harry snapped.

Footsteps sounded behind him, rapid and clipped, and Harry relaxed only a little because he recognized those footsteps. Draco was here.

“If you had hers,” Hermione started, her voice little more than a whisper, like she didn’t want Draco to overhear. “If you had hers, then why couldn’t you two be happy together?”

“Because she wasn’t my greatest love, I don’t think,” Harry said, his voice gentle.

“Granger,” Draco’s voice sounded behind him. “Harry, you were going to show me that book on Defense?”

Harry hadn’t made any such plans with Draco, but he was grateful for the interruption. “Of course,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, Hermione?” He slipped by her and started to walk without looking back, Draco at his side once more.

It felt more right than anything else.

ooOOooOOoo

  
On Halloween night, Draco knew that, no matter what, he couldn’t let Harry spend the night alone. Halloween was always awful for Harry, and understandably so. It was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, so he wasn’t exactly surprised that Harry wasn’t anywhere to be found. He was surprised that Granger was, but Draco supposed that they hadn’t made up after their argument.

And Draco wasn’t even thinking about the one he’d interrupted. He was thinking about the one they’d had just that morning, the one that no one had caught the contents of because Harry had been so swift to erect a privacy ward.

He just couldn’t imagine leaving Harry on his own, that night. So he cast a location spell, hoping that Harry wasn’t warded from them. It landed, and it told him that Harry was up in the Astronomy tower. In spite of the terrible memories that tower held for him, Draco gathered a few things and set out, hoping that Harry really was up there and this wasn’t a terribly complicated way of hiding.

He entered the tower and padded up the spiralling stairs, and when he reached the top, he found Harry there, outside, a lit candle sitting in front of him.

“Hey,” Draco said, a bit weakly. It was all that he could think to offer.

“Hi,” Harry said. He offered Draco a small smile, and motioned for Draco to join him. “You’re welcome to join me, but I don’t know how good company I’ll make.” He laughed, the sound more bitter than amused.

“I understand,” Draco said. He spread out the blanket that he’d brought and settled next to Harry, then patted the empty space between them that he’d left deliberately, so that Harry could settle on the blanket if he was so inclined.

Harry glanced at him, then shifted onto the blanket. “I’ve been reading about wizarding traditions. I know that fire is traditional to honor the dead, but I couldn’t see doing anything more than a candle while at school.”

Draco thought back to some of the bonfires he’d been to, somber and reflective, and smiled a little. “It’s true that larger fires are more traditional, but I think your parents would appreciate the candle all the same.”

Harry let out a small sound of gratitude. “There haven’t been any more attacks on you, have there?” he asked. He shifted again on the blanket, so that his arm was just brushing against Draco’s.

Draco didn’t mind that at all, Harry’s closeness. “No,” he said. He wasn’t even lying. “I think you put the fear of the Aurors into everyone when you got involved during the first week. Things aren’t perfect, but even though people aren’t talking to me, they aren’t actively trying to hurt me, so I guess that’s fine.”

“You don’t deserve for anyone to hurt you,” Harry said. “Neither one of us do.” He leaned in closer, so that he was practically pressed against Draco.

Draco, uncertainly, lifted his arm and curled it around Harry’s shoulders. It felt natural, easy, like breathing sometimes felt. He shivered when Harry leaned even further against him, his hand coming up to touch Draco’s on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about Granger?” he offered. He wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. Small talk, something he’d excelled at once upon a time, wasn’t coming easily to him anymore, no matter how much time he and Harry had spent together. It was just that they normally had more to do than this, more books to study and those sorts of things. Also, he supposed that a year of hell as Voldemort’s Consort would make small talk hard on anyone. And Granger was probably a terrible conversation to start, but he thought that maybe Harry needed to talk about her.

“She wanted me to drop the charges against Ginny,” Harry said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “It’s the same argument each time. Not because she doesn’t deserve to be punished,” he added, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “But because Azkaban is a terrible place, and we need to do better as a people.”

Draco had the feeling that he was quoting Granger directly. “I’m sorry that she asked that of you,” he said. He held Harry close, feeling the way that he trembled, either from the cold or exhaustion or grief. Draco didn’t know. It could be either, all, or none of them. “You deserve to have Weasley punished in the only avenue available to you. It’s not your fault that it happens to be Azkaban.”

Harry relaxed a little. “Are you sorry that you can’t see him punished?” he asked, and then flinched. “I’m sorry, that was an awful question.”

Draco was already shaking his head, though. “The thing he feared most was death,” he said. “And you gave that to him. So I’m happy. And if he’d ever gone to Azkaban, the world would still be bracing for him to get out. He might have even managed it. This way, at least, people can start to heal.”

“That’s… a good way to look at it,” Harry said. He sighed, and his body seemed to melt into Draco’s.

“Also,” Draco said thoughtfully, “You know how I feel about Azkaban. Even if there was no one who deserved it more, I don’t think I could ever try to get someone sentenced there.”

“I remember,” Harry said. He turned his head into Draco’s shoulder and let out another small sigh.

Draco had worried that he wouldn’t like being so close to Harry, that it would remind him of the Dark Lord, but it wasn’t doing any such thing. For one thing, all that Harry was doing was sitting with him, and the Dark Lord had never been much for cuddling. For another, Harry just… didn’t remind him of him. Draco was grateful for that, amongst many other things that he was grateful for.

He was glad that the night was a clear one, so that when he stretched out on the blanket, he had something to look at. He was so glad that Harry didn’t remind him of the Dark Lord, because Harry could stretch out beside him, his head still resting shyly on Draco’s shoulder, and it wasn’t making Draco nervous at all.

Mostly, he was glad that he’d thought to bring another blanket, because the tower got cold at night, and he and Harry both wound up falling asleep up there, not quite curled together, but close enough that they could potentially be considered in that state.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke up on November 1st, it was to Headmistress McGonagall sitting in the Astronomy Tower next to them, on what looked to be a very comfortable Transfigured chair. She was reading quietly, clearly waiting for the two of them to wake up.

Harry, himself, was oddly warm, and he realized it was because he and Draco were tangled together, though they were both still fully closed. It was nice, being so close to someone who he knew wasn’t potioning him in any way, who wasn’t intending at all to take advantage of their relationship.

Still, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep up here, and he didn’t think that Draco had either. He shook Draco awake gently, and was rewarded with a sleepy, warm smile that made his heart flutter.

“Headmistress,” Harry said, both as an acknowledgment that they were awake and as a way of letting Draco know that they weren’t alone.

Draco startled against him, then was sitting up and raking his hands through his hair, bringing it into some semblance of order. “Headmistress McGonagall,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “I’m so sorry, I know that you—”

“I hardly think that one night spent out of bounds is cause for expulsion, Mr. Malfoy,” she said serenely.

Harry wondered, for the first time, exactly what conditions had been attached to Draco’s return to Hogwarts. “Headmistress, if we’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, not sure where he was going with the words, but wanting to get them out.

Now the Headmistress was laughing. “Neither of you are in trouble,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t killed each other up here. You can imagine my surprise when I came up to find the two of you cuddled together like sleepy kittens.”

Harry felt his cheeks heating up and didn’t even have to look at Draco to know that his were doing something much the same. “We’re working on our friendship,” Harry said, knowing that it was lame even as he said it.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Headmistress McGonagall asked. There was such amusement in her voice that Harry was almost glad to have been caught. She almost never laughed, not that he saw, anyway.

“That’s what they’re calling it,” Draco said. Harry didn’t jump when he felt Draco’s fingers tangling with their own.

“That’s how it is, then,” she said, and nodded like she’d confirmed a bet with herself. “If only Severus were still here. He and I had quite the bet going with regards to the two of you.”

Harry let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled squawk. “You did?” he managed to squeak out.

Draco was laughing, the sound muffled by Harry’s robes.

“Now,” she said, and stood up. “I don’t want this to turn into a regular thing, boys. Not while school is in session. So I’m not going to punish the two of you today, even though you’ve missed your first set of classes for the day, but if I catch you up here again, I’m afraid it’ll have to be points and a detention.”

“Yes Headmistress,” Harry said obediently. “Thank you,” he added, a bit belatedly.

When she was gone, Draco stopped muffling his laughter. It was quiet and gentle, but very much there. Harry turned to look at him, and was struck by how very beautiful Draco was like this, sleep-mussed and laughing, carefree and unburdened. There was something so soft, so genuine about him in that moment that Harry was powerless to resist the urge that came over him.

He leaned in, slowly enough that Draco could push him away, and whispered, “I’d like very much to kiss you right now.”

Draco’s laughter faded and his eyes widened. “I’d like that,” he said, his eyes dropping shyly, his lips still curled into a genuine smile.

When their lips touched, it was the warmest, sweetest thing that Harry had ever felt. There was no spark, not like there was sometimes when they touched, but instead a warm well of pleasure rose within Harry, making him feel almost like he was in the middle of a warm bath. It was wonderful.

When he pulled back, Draco’s eyes were half-closed and he was trembling. “Okay?” Harry asked. reaching out to cup Draco’s cheek with his hand.

Draco nodded and tilted his head into Harry’s hand. “Very okay,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “I worried, you know, that things would be… too similar. But I don’t think that I’m going to have that problem.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said. And he was. Not just because he wanted to be able to kiss and hold Draco, and eventually because he wanted their relationship to progress, but because he didn’t want for Draco to be that traumatized. He wanted Draco to be okay for Draco’s sake, not for his own.

They sat in silence for a moment, until they were interrupted by the appearance of a Patronus, which spoke in Headmistress McGonagall’s tart voice as it informed them that, “My lenience doesn’t extend to afternoon classes, gentlemen, and you both probably need lunch as well. Move it!”

ooOOooOOoo

Time passed, faster than Draco had ever remembered it passing before. Maybe it was the fact that he and Harry were spending most of their time together now, going on what could almost be called dates to Hogsmeade. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in forever, Draco didn’t have the spectre of war hanging over his head, and no one seemed to be gunning for him.

Maybe it was just that classes were ridiculous, and he had no idea how he was managing to keep up with all of the work.

Whatever the reason, it seemed like Draco had blinked and suddenly it was mid-December, and he’d received an owl from his parents. The first that he’d received, in fact, since he’d left for Hogwarts.

He drew in a shaking breath as he stared at the letter in his hands, holding it gingerly like it was a Howler getting ready to go off. In a way, he might have preferred that. Then he wouldn’t have to decide whether to read it or not.

Harry settled next to him, not caring that he was breaking centuries of tradition by sitting at the Slytherin table. He never seemed to care much about that. “Is it from your parents?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Draco nodded. He shoved it into his pocket and took another bite of his breakfast, even though he was now anything but hungry. He knew he would regret it if he didn’t eat, especially since he had Potions before lunch. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to read it or not,” he said to Harry.

Harry nodded, like he understood. He probably did. “I’ll be there with you, if you need me to.”

Draco considered it for the first half of the day. The brew that they were working on was pathetically easy, and Charms never presented much of a challenge for Draco, at least, not the practical part. At lunch, he accepted Harry’s offer, and they met together in the library after they finished dinner.

Draco opened the letter with shaking fingers, not sure of what it would say, and not entirely sure what he wanted it to say.

_Draco,_

_Your father and I understand why you felt that you had to leave us and return to Hogwarts. We aren’t angry with you for doing so, even if we wish that you’d been willing to stay with us and support us, as duty demanded you do. Your father, in particular, has impressed upon me how important it is that you be allowed to make your own decisions in this new world we’ve found ourselves in._

_And so we’ve left you alone, in the hopes that the passing of time would thaw your unreasonably hot temper. But months have passed and you have not attempted to contact us, not even with your intentions to return home for Yule, and I find that to be intolerable. I expect you to come home for the holiday, Draco, and for this rebellion to be at an end._

_I understand that you’re angry with your father, of course I do, but you must know that your father was every bit as trapped by circumstances as you were. It was cruel of you, what you said to him when you left, and I fear that he has not yet recovered from the blow you dealt him. Your presence at home during this holiday season would go a long way towards soothing your father’s hurt._

_I need not remind you of this, having been raised properly as you were, but your duty is to your family first, and Draco, my son, your family needs you. I expect to see you home for the holiday without any argument._

_Love, Narcissa._

Draco crumbled the letter up and flung it away from him, his hands shaking as he did so. He hated that letter, and hated his mother for sending it. It was his duty to be there for his family? What about his family’s duty to protect him? Why did they… Why couldn’t they…

He didn’t even realize he was crying until Harry’s arms were around him and Harry was shushing him softly, the sound gentle and soothing.

“I hate them,” Draco managed to choke out. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do about Christmas, but I’m not going back to them. I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Harry murmured.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, then, quietly, Harry said, “Have I ever told you about my Aunt and Uncle?”

Draco blinked, startled out of his moroseness. “No,” he said. He hadn’t realized that Harry had any living family.

Harry smiled a little and glanced at the paper Draco had crumbled and shoved away from him. “They were terrible,” he confessed. “They hated magic and everything that magic touched, and so they hated me. They told me my parents died in a car accident, and until I got my first Hogwarts letter, I lived in their cupboard under the stairs.”

Draco took Harry’s hands in his own and stroked his thumbs over them, hoping to soothe him a little bit. “I’m sorry,” he said. Had nothing in Harry’s life gone well?

Probably not. Much like nothing in his own life had gone the way he’d thought it would.

“If they asked me to come home to them, for whatever reason, because of duty or whatever, I don’t know how I’d respond,” Harry said with a tired, sad smile. “They’re still family, you know? I don’t love them, I don’t know that I ever could, but I think there’s always going to be a part of me that craves their approval, even though I know I won’t get it. And I think it’s the same for you. You don’t love your parents anymore, and I don’t think you respect them, but you wish they would love and respect you, right?”

Draco shuddered at the very accurate assessment of how he felt about his parents. “You’re right,” he said, his voice hoarse. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “Why is it all awful, Harry?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“I don’t think it’s all awful,” Harry said, and smiled a little. He pulled his hand away and touched Draco’s cheek, then leaned in and kissed him.

Draco was starting to get used to that, to the way that his heart stopped when Harry kissed him, to the way that warmth pooled in his belly and the way that he sometimes wanted in a way he never had when the Dark Lord had been touching him. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feeling.

When Harry pulled back, Draco knew that he had a silly little smile on his face. “You’re right,” he said. He pecked Harry quickly on the lips, then drew back, his cheeks flaming. “It’s not all terrible. I happen to think that you’re pretty great.”

Harry’s own smile was bright and beaming. “You’re pretty great yourself, Draco,” he said. “And, if it makes you feel better, I’ve been at Hogwarts for almost every Christmas, and it’s always a beautiful experience. Would you like to share that with me?”

Somehow, even knowing that they’d be together for the holiday with or without Harry’s invitation, the words helped, and Draco couldn’t help the way that his cheeks flushed even further, or the way that he smiled at Harry, his eyes bright.

“I’d like that,” he said.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry fingered the ring in his pocket, inexplicably nervous for the dinner date that he was about to go on.

It wasn’t that it had been hard to arrange. In fact, Headmistress McGonagall had been particularly accommodating of Harry’s desires. And it wasn’t that Draco had been difficult about going out for Christmas dinner to a restaurant; he’d seemed to like the idea. Harry was pretty sure that it was just that he wasn’t sure how his intended gift was going to be received.

Harry had gone to his Account Manager, Arglock, two weeks ago, after he’d given up on finding the right present for Draco Malfoy, filthy rich Pureblood who was still a bit of a snob, even after everything he’d been through. He’d gone to the cranky goblin and asked what a wizard gave to another wizard who he was quite serious about, romantically speaking.

Arglock had been most amused, and had said that he imagined it was much the same for Courting couples everywhere: a ring. And of course, the Potter family being as old and rich as it was, there were several that Harry could choose from, if he was so inclined.

Harry thought that there was little more that could symbolize his intentions for Draco than a ring, so he found that he was so inclined. It was, perhaps, a little bit early in their relationship for a proposal, but Harry thought that it was probably okay, and that maybe Draco would like having a symbol of Harry’s feelings to wear whenever he wanted to, regardless of whether or not they were ready to get married.

That had been the intention, anyway. Now that Christmas day had arrived, Harry was sort of regretting everything. What would he do if Draco told him no?

“You’d keep going with your relationship,” he muttered to himself. He let himself fidget with the ring one last time, then he forced himself to take his hand out of his pocket and wait patiently for Draco.

The fact was that he wasn’t sure that it wasn’t too early for this. He and Draco had only really been… well, dating, for a few months. The fact that they had each others name didn’t necessarily guarantee that they were going to have a happily ever after together, and Harry was reluctant to assume that they would, given the way his life had gone thus far.

Still, the thought of not giving Draco the ring after he’d gone to all the trouble of preparing to was almost as bad as any other option, so Harry knew that he was going to give Draco the ring. Unless dinner went terribly. Then he would rethink this whole idea.

Draco cleared his throat behind him, revealing that he’d been there for who knew how long, and Harry turned and offered him a smile that he hoped wasn’t too nervous. “Draco,” he said, and stepped forward, holding one hand out.

Draco stepped into his embrace and leaned up for a quick kiss, then pulled back and ducked his head. “You seem nervous,” he said. He took Harry’s hand and tucked it into his own, offering him a shy little smile as he did so. “You don’t have to be. I’m excited for dinner.”

Harry smiled at him and fought the urge to touch the box in his pocket. “I’m glad,” he said, a little helplessly. “I hope you’ll like the place I picked. I chose a place with private dining, so that we wouldn’t be… you know, watched, the entire time.”

Harry imagined that Draco wouldn’t appreciate being stared at as they tried to eat, and he knew that he wouldn’t. And since he had the entirety of the Potter and Black fortunes, which he was still marvelling at when he had a minute to think about it, then he figured he might as well spend it.

A small part of him told him how irresponsible that was, and since that small part of him sounded a bit like Hermione, he shoved it away. He could do this with his money if he wanted. He could also do better things with it, later, once he’d figured out what those better things were.

For now, Draco was almost beaming at him, and Harry was glad to see the expression. “I’m sure that at some point I’ll have to adjust to being in public again, but I’ll admit, after my experience on the Platform, I’m not terribly eager to do it any time soon.”

“Hogsmeade doesn’t count?” Harry asked as they started to walk. They couldn’t Apparate within Hogwarts grounds, of course, so they were heading towards the closest spot where they could, which was just inside the gates to Hogsmeade.

Draco laughed and shook his head. “It doesn’t,” he said honestly. He stepped in closer to Harry, so that their arms brushed with each step they took, and Harry savored the closeness. “The residents are too used to me as a student at the school to really object to my presence. I’m sure there are a fair few who resent me, but none have said it to my face.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said simply. He hated to think about how easily isolated Drtaco could have been, and was glad it hadn’t turned out that way.

They reached the edge of Hogwarts’ wards with a fair amount of time to spare until their reservation, but Harry didn’t hesitate to Apparate there with Draco anyway. The restaurant was a busy one, which Harry expected given that it was on Diagon Alley. Even though it was so very busy, the proprietor came out herself to fawn over Harry just enough to make him grit his teeth, then led him and Draco back to their private room.

For all that Harry knew the food was going to be good, given the reviews that Arglock had given him, he found it almost impossible to concentrate on the food itself. It was a five course meal, and Harry knew enough to know that it was good, but he couldn’t have said what he’d eaten. He was too focused on Draco, who seemed to be greatly enjoying the meal.

When they’d both finished eating, and Draco was finishing the last of his dessert, Harry made his move. He pulled out the box and set it on the table so that it was within Draco’s field of vision, but not so that it was intimidating. At least, not intimidating to Draco. It was making him a little bit crazy.

Draco put down his fork and swallowed, his eyes wide. “Harry,” he started, looking at the box like it was a snake that was going to bite him.

Harry fought the urge to take the box back and stuff it into his pocket and pretend like this had never happened. “I think you know what’s in the box,” he said.

Draco nodded, then his lips quirked into a small smile. “It’s not like there are too many things that come in boxes like that.” He patted at his mouth with his napkin, then set it aside. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?” he asked. He didn’t shove the box away from him, for all that he hadn’t reached out to touch it.

“Maybe,” Harry allowed. “We’ve both had horrible experiences in the past, and we’re both still dealing with those. We’ve only really been together for a few months, and what’s that in the scheme of things?” Airing the doubts out loud made them worse, and Harry found himself almost itching to take the box back.

Draco reached out and touched it with hesitant fingertips. “That’s all very true,” he said. “But I don’t think your intention is that we have a standard short engagement followed by an immediate wedding after graduation, is it?” Draco glanced up at him, but then he dropped his gaze back to the innocent black velvet box.

“No,” Harry said. He took a deep breath and let it out, letting his anxieties out with it. Draco would either say yes or say no, but Harry didn’t think that either answer would ruin what was building between them. “No, that’s not my intention. I guess… I guess I just want to make it clear what my intentions are. So that you know, even if everyone else doesn’t understand, that I think I’m in this for life.”

Draco glanced up at him again, his lips still quirked into that strange smile. “But isn’t it too soon to say that?” He was touching the box with more than his fingertips, now, and looked like he was thinking about pulling it closer to him.

“Maybe,” Harry said again. “I guess I could find you a promise ring or something, if you’d rather have that.”

“A what?” Draco asked. His smile finally dropped, switching over to a curious frown.

Harry laughed. “It’s a Muggle thing,” he said. “It’s a ring that young Muggles give each other to symbolize their intention, I think. It’s religious, too. I don’t actually know much about it.”

Draco nodded. “I see,” he said, even though he clearly didn’t. He picked up the box and opened it, then smiled at the sight of the ring inside. “One of your ancestral house rings,” he said. “Did your account manager choose it?”

Harry flushed. “He brought me three, and I chose the one I thought best suited you,” he said. “Did I pick well?”

“You did,” Draco replied. He took the ring out of the box. “I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I’m ready to get married,” he murmured, and glanced up at Harry as he spoke. “You understand that, right?”

“I do,” Harry said. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready either, you know. Ginny had plans for me that still make me uncomfortable when I stop to think about them.”

Draco shivered. “I understand.” He studied the ring for a moment longer, then slid it onto his finger, where the ring immediately resized itself for him so that it was a safe, snug fit. “Thank you, Harry. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said. He leaned over and kissed Draco, making sure to keep it short and sweet.

“You understand that I didn’t get you anything nearly so grand,” Draco said. He pulled a small package out and resized it with a tap of his wand. “I didn’t think we were at the engagement portion of our relationship, you see.”

“I understand,” Harry said, smiling at Draco. He couldn’t help it. His ring was glinting on Draco’s finger, and he was finding that to be very distracting.

“Go on, then,” Draco said, and pushed the medium-sized box to him.

Harry opened it, and found a book dealing with wizarding customs. It was one of the volumes he’d attempted to find in the Hogwarts library, only to find that the only copy that had been there had been destroyed. He smiled down at it and tucked it away in his pocket after shrinking it.

“It’s wonderful,” he said.

“It’s not very personal,” Draco fretted, looking nervous, like he was regretting his own choices. “Not like this.” He touched the ring on his finger, his cheeks heating as he did so.

Harry shook his head. “It’s perfect,” he said. He leaned in for a quick kiss, and Draco obliged him. “We’ll have all of our lives together for personal gifts,” he added, hoping to reassure him.

Draco relaxed a little, his finger still on his ring. “That’s true,” he said. “All of our lives,” he echoed, a little dreaminess entering his tone. “That’s an amazing thought.”

It really was. And, looking at his ring on Draco’s finger, Harry thought that maybe he could believe that they really would have the rest of their lives together. At the very least, he thought that he wasn’t going to regret this.

“We’re going to have an amazing life,” he said, putting all the conviction behind his words that he would put into a spell, as though his will could make it happen.

“We are,” Draco agreed, and reached out to take his hand.

Harry didn’t think that the spark when their fingers touched would ever get old.


End file.
